BODY DOUBLE (1984)

CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS: I first witnessed Brian DePalma's Body Double at the drive-in upon its initial release. That would have put me at just a few months shy of 19. I remember the film left me feeling like I'd just had unsatisfying cheap sex with an attractive stranger in an attractive setting...the kind of sex that is all the more disappointing because everything indicates that it should have been great...but it wasn't. Emptiness among the shimmer. Very L.A., right? And so is this movie.

I will get right to the verdict before I even present the evidence: this movie is a big hot steaming mess, but it's also very compelling. Now I watched it WITHOUT the benefit of director's commentary in FULL SCREEN mode (GIANT FAIL, BITCHES AT NETFLIX!), so I don't know what DePalma's intentions were, YET. But this movie is obsessed with four things: Sex. Porn. Vertical Blinds. Hitchcock. It's also a great 80s time capsule. But it's ice cold and makes no sense. Because DePalma seems to have decided that images supersede any semblance of plot, this post will be presented more visually than any other post I've done. Let's begin, shall we?
So, we begin with the credits superimposed over a sort of creepy but mostly tacky graveyard shot. The font are gooey, blood-dripping letters. Very Vampira. Then a Billy Idol/Vampira type girly-vampire-man in his coffin startles us by awaking suddenly, baring his fangs and staring into the camera. Staring. Staring. And the director yells "Cut!" Seems Idol/Vampira/acula is claustrophobic and is having some sort of panic attack. The sleazy director of the B Movie tells the actor to take the rest of the day off.
Cut to the 1st penetration scene: hot dog to the mouth (and hot dog to the camera) style. This film is filled with phallic symbols and penetration. While there is no queer quotient in this film to speak of, there are a few cute 80s guys, like this one with the short shorts and big thighs. Takes me back to the days of 80s gay porn, for sure...
Here we see DePalma aping Hitchcock with the obvious rear screen projection as the protagonist drives home to surprise his girlfriend with some hot dogs. The protagonist in this flick is a loser. He's creepy. He's skinny. He's an actor. He's kind of a rodent. Nobody really likes him, and neither does the audience. Well, long story short: the dude gets home and he's so stupid that he realizes his girlfriend is fucking some guy in the back of the apartment like 10 minutes after the rest of us do. He leaves all dejected, falls off the wagon, gets drunk, sleeps on his bartender buddy's couch, goes on some auditions, goes to acting class, and then basically winds up housesitting some super space age (via the 80s) bachelor pad for some other creepy douchebag who picks him up outside an acting audition.
None of the characters in this movie behave like people in real life. And perhaps that's the point. But since I didn't have the director's commentary, I don't know for sure. Ultimately, it disconnects the viewer from what's happening on the screen. Here's the swinging bachelor pad. It's some octagonal shaped house up on stilts in the Hollywood Hills. It's fucking lame.
So the creepy new bff of our creepy protagonist shows him the neighbor lady who likes to do sexy dances in the window for the whole neighborhood to see. She dances, she shakes her tush, shakes her titties, flips her hair...but that's not all. She masturbates, she opens her safe and takes out all of her diamonds in plain view of any pervy neighbors who might be looking out their nearby windows in her direction. She's a fucking retard, and we pretty much dislike her from the get go.
But our creepy protagonist and his creepy bff think it's HOT! Because they're retards too, in a retarded movie filled with people who have nothing whatsoever to do with reality or any fantasy world I'd ever want to have anything to do with. And yet, I'm compelled to keep watching.
Creepy protagonist is enjoying the circular rotating bed when he finds out he's been fired from his movie. So he decides to go down to the set to find out WTF happened!
This cap is very important to remember! Notice the new Billy Idol/Vampira hybrid in the background. This image returns later, so please take note. So creepy protag gets humiliated (again) and chewed out and thrown off the set for good.
Later that night Creepy Protag is busy peeping on his horny neighbor lady when he notices that, hey, there's some ugly cro-mag guy with a blow torch working on...the base of a satellite dish...at night...for no reason. The ugly cro-mag guy is peeping on the horny neighbor lady too. Creepy Protag suddenly feels protective of the horny neighbor lady, so the next day he stalks her through a Beverly Hills shopping mall.
The whole stalking sequence is excrutiatingly slow and just beyond believability...I mean, we didn't have as much technology back then, but we would know if some perv was following us like 5 feet behind. The whole execution, obviously paying "homage" to Hitchcock's Vertigo, falls flat. It's like bad parody. The only good thing about this sequence (the mall part, anyway) is the 80s fashion on display. Headbands and polos and feathered hair, oh my! :)
So, creepy protag follows horny neighbor lady to the beach, where she rents a hotel room and speaks to her lover, who apparently keeps jilting her, and all she does is grovel very badly for him. It's kind of sad. But then you realize how awfully weak and retarded and unfeministy she's being, and then you just wind up hating her. It's like, come on! It's 1984! Get your shit together, girl! You're rich, you're beautiful, and yet you're acting like a sniveling, groveling piece of shit. You suck! Also, this creepy protag peeping perv is practically breathing down your neck stalking you, and you haven't even noticed!
Oh, but she HAS noticed. And right there at the beach, at the orifice of a tunnel, the creepy peeping protag and the horny neighbor lady fall prey to their inner sexual urges and start to make out big time RIGHT THERE AT THE BEACH! They totally overdo it and she actually says: "No!....YES!" IT'S FUCKING RIDICULOUS. I was laughing my silly ho ass off! And it's shot like it's the most fascinating, erotic piece of cinema ever seen. It's tragic!
So then they keep going at it, and finally she pulls away and says "No, I can't! Not like this!" Like what? Like the stupid whore that you are? Ugh! She is very annoying!
Believe it or not, she gets more annoying. After a string of events that I haven't mentioned, the ugly cro-mag guy robs her safe and then attacks the horny neighbor lady in her posh 80s pad. This is the next big penetration scene in the film. Ugly cro-mag guy pretty much penetrates the screen with this big drill, and the horny neighbor lady screams and yelps and acts helpless and then trips over the bed and knocks herself out. It's like, by the time he finally kills her, you're cheering him on because she is so annoying. And the actual penetration, while not shown explicitly, is implied quite graphically, and in a very PHALLIC manner. I mean, you don't get much more PHALLIC than that. This scene is straight out of any one of those low-budget 80s splatter pics like Sorority House Massacre of Driller Killer. It's FUCKING RIDICULOUS. But hey, it's DePalma. Maybe he was Making A Point.
Enter Melanie Griffith (in one of her first starring roles) as A PORN STAR. Remember, this is the mid 80s. Home video is exploding and so is the new realization that YOU CAN RENT PORN AND WATCH IT IN THE PRIVACY OF YOUR OWN HOME! No more creepy porn theaters with sticky seats and nasty floors and ugly trolls on the hunt for desperate straight penis to suck off. (Sorry, ugly trolls!). So, here's how genius this movie is: after witnessing the brutal murder of the horny neighbor lady (and FAILING TO SAVE HER...LOSER!), creepy peeping protag is sitting around getting drunk and watching porn when he sees this Holly Hollywood porn chick do the SAME EXACT DANCE AS THE HORNY NEIGHBOR LADY DID IN HER WINDOW. Holy crap! This makes him realize, all on his own, that PERHAPS THE HORNY NEIGHBOR LADY WAS NOT THE ONE DOING THE DANCE, AND MAYBE IT WAS THE PORN STAR, AND MAYBE HE'S BEEN SET UP! Set up for what, you ask? Good question! I have no fucking idea!
So creepy peeping protag goes down to the Porn Office, which just happens to be holding auditions that day. And, this being straight porn, and him being male, he gets hired on the spot. NATCH!
Then there's an apparent INTERMISSION in the film while we are treated to a music video performance of Frankie Goes to Hollywood's hit single "Relax" starring our creepy peeping protagonist as well as Frankie Goes to Hollywood! (Oh, so here's your Queer Quotient). But it's actually creepy peeping protag's first big porn scene, which ends with him screwing the Melanie Griffith character, and making her kind of act like she actually came. Of course. Because this is starting to look like some straight loser's fantasy about his loser self as hero in some fucked up twisted fantasy, right?
Then all of a sudden creepy peeping protag is all slicked out in sleazy porn producer garb and lying to the porn actress and saying he wants her to star in his next big porn production. Melanie has this scene where she's like "I don't do this, I don't do that, I don't do anal, blah blah blah" and apparently back in 1984 it was so refreshing to see a young actress playing a sassy porn star and listing her do's and dont's that she got a Golden Globe nomination. Good for her! Not good for women, but good for her!
Then he takes her back to his pad and she climbs on top of him, because he's promised her a fabulous porn part that is just the be all and end all of porn roles...but by now it's all just a bunch of b.s., right, cauz he's trying to find out her connection to the dead horny neighbor lady. But pay attention, because this is when it all starts to come together. Holly Hollywood identifies the creepy peeping protag's creepy bff as the man who hired her to dance in the window and impersonate the horny neighbor lady. Then, pissed that creepy peeping protag's not a real porn producer, she leaves in a porn star huff.
She hitchhikes to get back to the Valley (I'm speculating), and gets picked up by the ugly cro-mag guy. Creepy peeping protag is right behind them, and he watches ugly cro-mag bash the porn star with a tire iron, right there in his Bronco, at a road block, with tons of cops around. But of course, no one notices. Ultimately, creepy peeping protag tracks down ugly cro-mag to a field beside a resevoir and they fight, but creepy peeping protag winds up in a real grave, claustrophobia hitting him full tilt boogie, and his ex-bff (who turns out to be disguised as the ugly cro-mag guy) burying him alive.
Then, the creepy peeping protag is back in the coffin having a claustrophobia attack...except he's not in costume, he's in the clothes he was wearing in the last scene where he was geeting buried alive.
He talks to the director and asserts his ability to finish the scene in spite of his fear, unlike the last time when he wussed out, which resulted in him losing his job, catching his girlfriend in bed with another man, getting duped by the fake bff, etc. So he goes back and does the scene.
Then we're back at the grave site, where he overcomes his claustrophobia, pushes the fake bff /cro-mag guy into the resevoir, and saves the porn star.
Then we're back on set at the shower murder scene (see above with the other Billy Idol/vampire wannabe in the shower with the actress-above left). Except this time a female body double with big fake hooters is standing in for Little Miss Muffet (again, above left) and the Billy Idol/girly vampire man is now our creepy peeping protag. And the porn star is in the studio, watching the scene being filmed, telling Little Miss Muffet that she's going to get LOTS of dates because everyone is going to think that the body double's big fake hooters are actually hers.
Then there's a gratuitous booby shot with blood and stuff as the credits roll.

This movie makes absolutely no sense to me. But, fuck if I'm not compelled to find a version of it with director's commentary and watch it and listen to WTF Brian DePalma thought he was trying to do. Because until I hear his side of it, I will not be able to dismiss it as total bullshit. And, as much as I just want to hate and dismiss Body Double outright...I just can't do it yet. It's a big hot steaming spectacle of style over substance, that's my take on it. Nevertheless, it's worth a look.

Plus, there is no homophobia in this film. That's refreshing (and rare) for a movie from the 80s.

UPDATE: I guess I was misremembering b/c there's no version of this movie with DePalma commentary. I did read, however, that he discusses the movie in depth in the book Double DePalma by Susan Dworkin.

EYES OF LAURA MARS (1978).

There is SO MUCH going on in this film that I don't even know where to begin. Eyes of Laura Mars is an oft-maligned Faye Dunaway vehicle from the late 70s that holds up extremely well in spite of its flaws. It's a melodramatic mystery thriller about a famous fashion photographer/provacateur (Laura Mars, played by Dunaway) whose inner circle is systematically murdered by an icepick wielding maniac. Mars has visions of each murder and can "see" them as they occur through the killer's eyes. Suspects abound, Dunaway overacts within an inch of her life, and romance blossoms amidst all of the chaos. As a straight up thriller, it's debatable whether or not it succeeds or fails. But as a piece of filmmaking, as a tour de force for its actors, as a wildly careening melodrama, and as a time capsule of a bygone era, it is an amazing piece of work well worth watching...over and over again.

Try to imagine a world before cable tv, before Project Runway, before (gasp!) America's Next Top Model (Tyra Banks was most likely pooping her diapers and eating her own boogers when this movie came out). Imagine me, a young impressionable 12 year old gay boy staying up late on weekends to watch R-rated movies on ON TV (the precursor to HBO-if you need an explanation, do your own research, but it's worth checking out)...movies I barely understood such as Midnight Express, Luna and Equus...titillating at times, yes, but just as often quite disturbing and confusing, to say the least. This was a time when the fashion industry was a mysterious netherworld populated by barely human grown-ups who didn't move in the same reality as any of the ones in the suburbia I lived in.
The focal point of the film is Faye Dunaway, and it's to her credit that she manages to hold your attention amid all of the other things going on. She looks fabulous...except for those teeth. My God, the teeth! Teeth have changed, that's for sure. We're living in much-improved teeth times. Back to the film. Expertly shot in New York City, and seething with models, murders, nudity, cityscapes and loud disco music, the movie comes close at times to instigating sensory overload. The confident direction by Irvin Kershner (who went on to direct The Empire Strikes Back) masterfully switches between calm, frivolity, suspense and chaos to keep the viewer interested and just a bit on edge. Dunaway took this role right after winning her Best Actress Oscar for Network, so she was at her career high point. But her intensity and acting style is definitely a throwback to the 1950s and 60s, at least in this flick. Dunaway Acts in this flick, capital A. Watching her performance, you can kind of see Mommie Dearest lurking around the next corner, even if Faye obviously didn't. Her acting isn't terrible, it's just about 3 decibles higher than the rest of the cast. Her performance in this flick elevates it closer to a level of camp that it otherwise wouldn't be at if starring a more understated actress.

It may be difficult to imagine, but the subject matter of Dunaway's photo art in the film was considered so outrageous at the time as to be unrealistic. This movie was definitely ahead of its time in that respect. I also remember thinking that the models (such as the one in the first picture above) surely weren't acting like real models...but now, after seasons of ANTM and PW, I know that is exactly how they behave. The flick is aware of itself as a commentary not only on society's consumption of sex and violence (one of the movie's sly messages is that this is where we're headed, using tits and guns to sell perfume--another seemingly unrealistic aspect at the time that has come to fruition in subsequent years) but of the media's fascination with said subject matter and its role in delivering it to the public, even while it complains about its existence. Many of the photos used were taken by Helmut Newton.

One of the funnest parts of the film is the make-believe fashion shoot set pieces that punctuate the film. Again, I keep coming back to this, but while still over the top, they were completely outrageous at the time the film was released and a few steps beyond the imaginable at the time. Now, I could totally see this as a challenge on ANTM, with the judges critiquing the aspiring models' peformances the whole time. (She's just LYING there, I'm really getting no sense of WHO SHE IS). The above shoot was filmed on location in Columbus Circle during rush hour over 4 days, so there's great crowd reaction shots that go along with it. It must have been a lot of fun (and a lot fo work) to shoot.

There's another photo shoot sequence that takes place in a warehouse as a classic disco song called "Let's All Chant" plays on the soundtrack. That song, by the way, was big in the clubs, but not on the radio, another example of this films off the chart hip quotient. It's an amazing sequence, and I've only used one photo from it (above). I enjoy this movie so much on a visual level, and I've done all these screen caps, but don't want to use too many. This could be one of the first movies to continually use contemporary songs on its soundtrack to enhance the scenes or add to the mood. I think American Graffiti used the same technique with old tunes, but this film (minus its thriller elements) is clearly the precursor to 80s music-imbued films like Top Gun, Flashdance and Footloose.

Just to get back to how old this movie is, I remember being utterly FASCINATED and ENTHRALLED when Laura Mars explains to Detective/Love Interest Neville (well-played by a young, fit, but not quite hot Tommy Lee Jones) how her visions occur, using a video camera and a monitor to illustrate her point. It was so high tech! WOW! I got all excited just seeing that scene, it seemed like a whole new era was upon us. Little did I know that the video era was right around the corner. This scene also leads us to the most clunky and awkward portion of the film: the budding romance between Mars and Detective Neville. I won't go too deeply into it because in the long run it serves its purpose, but boy...very much a square peg in a circle hole. Weird and not all that convincing. But it doesn't ruin the film, just adds to its camp quotient.

Here's a shot of Dunaway and a young Raul Julia, who plays her alcoholic man-whore of an ex-husband, and the prime suspect in the murders. He's trouble all right, and it's somewhat shocking to see him so young and healthy looking. One of the best aspects of this film is the male characters that surround Faye's: her ex-husband, the detective, her manager, her driver...she's surrounded by strong male characters, and yet she distrusts all of them to a certain degree. She obviously derives comfort from their strength, but she is threatened by it as well. It's an interesting feminist subtext to the film that isn't ever really explored in any depth, but I noticed it and I like it.

And finally, last but not least, the Queer Quotient. What would a film about high fashion be without a token gay character? In this film, it's an amazing actor by the name of Rene Auberjonois who plays Donald Phelps, Mars' manager. He's actually a great character, especially considering this is the mid to late 1970s. But then, it's totally pre-AIDS, pre-Moral Majority conservative backlash, so this was kind of a step toward treating gay characters with respect. He's a strong, no-nonsense, take no bullshit character, and I have always remembered him. The cap above is from a scene in which a black cop starts to tease him for being gay, asking him to give him a little bit of that (wink wink) Rona Barrett (if you don't know who Rona Barett is, go do your homework). Donald replies, without missing a beat, "Frankly (wink wink), I don't do Rona Barrett!" It's very empowering and funny, and quite refreshing especially considering the era from which it came.This final cap is a scene from Donald's birthday bash, which takes place in his somewhat creepy apartment with a collection of somewhat creepy guests...but no Village People! You know, us gay people, we like our birthdays. Those our OUR days, after surviving another year of putting up with the world's b.s. Donald plays a pivotal role throughout the movie, and unfortunately doesn't make it through to the end, but then, neither does hardly anyone else, so you can't really take it as anti-gay. Ultimately, it's a very gay-positive role, quite possibly the best of its time up to that point.

Overall, this film is a wonder. I enjoy it immensely for lots of different reasons, obviously, hence the long post and many screen caps. Bottom line is: as a thriller/mystery, it's pretty good but not great. As a time capsule, as a piece of filmmaking with amazing set design, stunning New York backdrops, and quite a bit of overacting from Ms. Dunaway, which ultimately raises the camp factor to a level of enjoyability that makes it a more fun gay viewing, it's fabulous. The Director's Commentary is thoughtful and informative, highly recommended on a second viewing.

THE MORNING AFTER (1986)

I was excited to receive The Morning After from Netflix. I remember the Los Angeles setting as being one of the best parts of the film and was eager to see it in all its full color widescreen glory on dvd. The main attraction is Jane Fonda's performance which, as is often the case, rises above the material. Her turn as an aging, alcoholic almost-actress is flawless, and it's the one thing about the movie that is above reproach. The film also stars Jeff Bridges, looking rather fair-skinned and beefy as a racist ex-cop who befriends Jane's character after she wakes up one morning in some dead guy's bed with blood all over the place and no memory of how she got there or what transpired the night before. Shades of the Blue Gardenia, anyone? Why yes, now that you mention it...





Ok, so, where to begin? The film has its strengths: Jane's performance is amazing. She's washed up, bleached out, and yes, aerobicized to nothing but bone and sinew, but we can kind of buy it as she's supposed to be a woman who eats nothing but booze. The film's got some comic moments, chief among them a scene in an airport where she's trying to b.s. her way onto a booked flight, which she delivers expertly. She also does a fantastic job at playing an obnoxious self-pitying drunk. There are scenes where she sort of turns on the Bridges character in that mean, goading way that drunks do. It's like, I dare ya to hit me because I'm so obnoxious and drunk. I dare ya!

Jane's chemistry with Bridges is good. They play off each other well and he sort of just lets her do her thing, which is what codependents do when their pet drunk is in the room. Bridges plays this ex-cop from Bakersfield who drops casual racial epithets like "spade" and "beaner" in what looks like an effort to make the audience find him charming. Of course, Jane's character is miffed at the prejudice he spits out, but then, she's just a drunk with her own prejudices, against gays, who appear to be the only fans her character has left. Ultimately, this is a film populated by talented actors who, no matter how good a job they do, can't save this film from being anything else than the giant turd that it is.

What becomes apparent as this film progresses is that, despite its 80s kitsch value (scenes in downtown L.A. loft apartements and Beverly Hills hair salons are wonderfully gawdy in that way only movies from the 80s can be), as a thriller it really sucks. Sidney Lumet just really sucked at directing this movie, and he really sucks at the commentary as well. To hear him drone on about how hard it is to make a good suspense movie is almost laughable. After admitting at the outset that he hasn't watched the film in years (always a bad sign on a commentary track...shouldn't you be prepared?) he then at one point says "Let's just watch this scene play out because Jane is so wonderful in it." Yeah, I already did that you moron, the commentary track is for talking. He's like 100 years old and totally clueless. Sometimes he talks about directing. He thinks he's doing something unique by giving us shots like this one (above), framed just so, with lots of competing colors because that's what L.A. is to him. Ok. But that was probably the camera operator guy who framed that shot, not the director. Other than Mr. Lumet being an incredibly boring old windbag, the story is really bad and unbelievable: the way it unfolds, the fact that Bridges even takes an interest in Fonda's character is kind of beyond reality and they never bother to try explaining it in any meaningful way.

At another point on the commentary, Lumet talks about how great he thinks the score is. Which is funny. Because it's really bad. When it's not "suspense music" it's really sappy soft jazz at moments where Jane's character is being humanized, such as when she gushes over Bridges' Nancy Drew collection, or when Bridges makes her an impromptu candle light dinner. It's used in a very 70s way in this decidedly 80s movie. Ultimately, Jane's character gets back to herself by, what else, getting her hair done. By her estranged husband played by Raul Julia (another great actor in this ridiculously bad film), who's a hairdresser...who's actually trying to frame Jane for the dead guy's murder. Like Jane's bleached hair in the opening shot, this film's a washed up dried out mess. In my book it doesn't even deserve to be a guilty pleasure, which makes me sad cauz I kinda thought it was until I watched it again.

But now let me get to the Queer Quotient. I think the biggest bummer about it is the outright homophobia in the film. The 80s were not an easy decade for gays, and movies like this (i.e. by the big studios) didn't make it any easier.

The morning she wakes up next to a dead guy, she manages to have a good laugh on the phone with her husband when he tells her she pissed off a potential employer by calling her "A dyke. A greasy diesel dyke." Jane laughs, then says "Why would I say that?" "Because she is one. But you have to say it?" Yuk Yuk. I must balance this dialogue with one that was actually a bit empowering on its face: a detective questioning Raul's character at his salon says (about the salon): "It's a great place for a stud...or are you a fag, Jackie?" Jackie (Raul's character) walks up into the detective's personal space and replies: "How bad do you wanna know?" Which shuts that cop right up, and would be kick ass from a gay perspective if Raul's character was gay, but he's not...because a gay would never challenge a straight like that. I don't know, bad gay juju all around in this flick. This film is typical of many from the era in that it goes out of it's way to throw in homophobic dialogue and negative gay stereotypes.

Here's Bruce Vilanch, who's aparently been a shapeless amoeba with bad hair for at least the past 25 years, in a brief turn as a swishy bartender who cashes a check on Thanksgiving day for Jane's character in a gay bar populated by a couple of Village People.Here's one of the Jane character's gays in his God-awful bedroom, nursing a hangover and talking about the fabulous party he threw last night.

Here's an example of the decor in his apartment. Very tasteful and cosmopolitan!

Oh, and did I forget to mention that he's a drag queen? Jane's character needs a new set of clothes and that's why she's there. He offers some comic relief which isn't all that bad in itself, but this whole sequence took me back to being like 20 years old and not knowing how I was supposed to be a man and be gay and I was trying to figure it out and then I'd see a movie like this and it was like so offensive and upsetting. It's like, no, that's not what I am. But is that what I'm supposed to be? Very confusing. In a completely unexpected way, this film took me back (emotionally and mentally and - thank God - temporarily) to a state of confusion and turmoil from my young adult life that I am so thankful to have survived. It also made me kind of mad at the people who made this shit. I suppose you could argue that visibility is better than nothing, but I don't know...I just don't know if this kind of visibility serves any purpose other than reinforcing negative stereotypes. Thank God for movies like Parting Glances, which came out the same year, were far and few between, but were a big help. The gays in this flick are very comforting to the straights of the world, and could be campy fun today to the gays, but since I was there at the time, I don't find them amusing. But maybe that's just me being a humorless jerk!

Anyway, all in all: watchable. Acting good. Direction and story not so much. Director's commentary: Zzzzzzzzzzzz. 80s kitsch factor is huge, but overall...it's a dud.

THE BLUE GARDENIA (1953)

Directed by Fritz Lang, who also directed the classic 1927 sci fi flick Metropolis, The Blue Gardenia is a weird flick. Its tone keeps changing back and forth between suspense and comedy. Anne Baxter (whom I adore, she was Eve in All About Eve, you know) plays a blonde telephone operator named Norah who's betrothed to an armed services member serving in Korea, which keeps her safely out of the dating cesspool. Raymond Burr is Harry Prebble, the sleazy womanizer who unsuccessfully asks her out. Well, Norah gets dumped by her beau, and right after she's read the news that he's met and fallen in love with someone else, she gets a telephone call from slick Harry and on an impulse, she agrees to meet him at the Blue Gardenia, a hip, happening Tiki-themed nightspot. She gets there and proceeds to get drunk on rum cocktails. She then goes back to Harry's apartement with him, where he tells her he's going to have a "party." Well, before you can say "date rape," he's forcing himself on her and she's fighting him off with a fireplace poker, then she passes out on the floor. She wakes up in her own bed the next day with no memory of what transpired the night before. Unfortunately for her, Harry is found murdered that morning. Did Norah snap and kill him? Will she be charged with murder? What's a girl to do?

This film isn't great, but it's got a lot to hold your interest if you're into any of the actors or the era. It's early 1950s, so the set design and the fashion is straddling the 40s and 50s quite well. There's also some great footage of downtown L.A., including City Hall and the Federal courthouse. The main problem is tone: the director seems to be going back and forth between playing it straight and playing it for laughs. Baxter's drunk scenes are over the top and seem to be played for laughs, which doesn't quite fit in with the story unfolding. She was a much better drunk in The Razor's Edge. Anne Southern is really good as Norah's sassy roommate and has the best line in the movie. Describing her ex-husband, whom she is again dating, she says "Homer always had a husband's faults. But now he has a boyfriend's virtues." You can also view this film from a feminist angle, and if you do you'll notice the cautionary message of a what a nice girl is not supposed to do, even if she did just get dumped by her boyfriend who's serving in Korea. I enjoyed the movie, not so much for being a successful mystery, but for being an entertaining time capsule filled with interesting artifacts.